08-30-2017, 10:49 AM
.Corvus.
(yes, I am alone)
but then again, I always was. as far back as I can tell.
but then again, I always was. as far back as I can tell.
He kept to himself, and it suited him.
He had never longed for the company of others as so many might have – perhaps it was, in part, due to the bitterness that festered inside of his chest like an open, gaping wound. The bitterness that he would never be like his brother, that the wolf would never emerge from the hearth of his breast – or bitterness that he had never known his father. He only had the briefest of memories of him to remind him that he was not some figment of his own imagination – that he was real, and so very absent.
A bitterness that threatened to consume him entirely.
His feathered appendages lay heavily along the curve of his barrel, inky and gleaming in the pale light of the dense woodland – iridescent beneath its gentle rays, warming the hollowed bone to the core. He does not take to the sky often; it does not give him any comfort to be closer to the starlight that so openly mocks him, nor to the pale moon and its glaring surface, illuminating every fault and flaw etched into his gilded skin. You look so much like your father, his mother had crooned while he and his brother had once suckled from her breast, but the words are laced with resentment now – he longed to wear a skin that was anything but familiar.
Alas, he cannot, and he is wandering the darkness of the Taiga once more – drawn from the darkest shadow by a pang of loneliness only quenched by the presence of his brother, though he envies him so. He is power, while he, himself, is .. what is he? Nothing. Nothingness, and as the thought echoes within the emptiness of his mind, a heavy and powerful gust of wind roils through the forest, expanding from his chest and filling the empty spaces and crevices carved out by the tall and winding copse of trees enveloping him.
And finally, his voice – rough from disuse, tilted toward the thick canopy over head - calls for him, a plea for a brother he felt as close to as he felt distant from.
He had never longed for the company of others as so many might have – perhaps it was, in part, due to the bitterness that festered inside of his chest like an open, gaping wound. The bitterness that he would never be like his brother, that the wolf would never emerge from the hearth of his breast – or bitterness that he had never known his father. He only had the briefest of memories of him to remind him that he was not some figment of his own imagination – that he was real, and so very absent.
A bitterness that threatened to consume him entirely.
His feathered appendages lay heavily along the curve of his barrel, inky and gleaming in the pale light of the dense woodland – iridescent beneath its gentle rays, warming the hollowed bone to the core. He does not take to the sky often; it does not give him any comfort to be closer to the starlight that so openly mocks him, nor to the pale moon and its glaring surface, illuminating every fault and flaw etched into his gilded skin. You look so much like your father, his mother had crooned while he and his brother had once suckled from her breast, but the words are laced with resentment now – he longed to wear a skin that was anything but familiar.
Alas, he cannot, and he is wandering the darkness of the Taiga once more – drawn from the darkest shadow by a pang of loneliness only quenched by the presence of his brother, though he envies him so. He is power, while he, himself, is .. what is he? Nothing. Nothingness, and as the thought echoes within the emptiness of his mind, a heavy and powerful gust of wind roils through the forest, expanding from his chest and filling the empty spaces and crevices carved out by the tall and winding copse of trees enveloping him.
And finally, his voice – rough from disuse, tilted toward the thick canopy over head - calls for him, a plea for a brother he felt as close to as he felt distant from.
I think maybe it's because you were never really real to begin with.
(I just made you up to hurt myself)
(I just made you up to hurt myself)
@[Crevan]